Ruins (13 page)

Colourful displays adorned the walls, and under the whiff of cedar, Nicholas caught that undeniable school bouquet – a chemical mix of bleach and pencil shavings. He had been out of school for a couple of weeks now, but it felt like a lifetime. If his friends knew what he was doing at this very moment...

Their footsteps resounded loudly. They sounded like prison wardens. Or victims in a horror film. Nicholas loved horror movies, but he’d seen enough of it for real. And he and Sam were behaving exactly how stupid characters in those films behaved. Who else would look into what had happened at the school, though? Besides, they were Sentinels.

Sentinels.

It sat a little easier now. He had a name for what he was; what his parents had been. The name gave him a purpose. While his friends would go back to school in September and struggle to figure out what they were going to do with their lives, Nicholas knew what he had to do with his. Of course, Maths and Science exams were a little easier than the tests that Sentinels underwent. Chances are you wouldn’t be skinned by a demon while taking your Maths A-Level.

Isabel’s fur bristled against his neck and Nicholas was overcome with a tingling heat. He was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but it was unbearable. Sweat clung to his top lip.

Sam removed his fedora and mopped at his own brow with a handkerchief. Clearly the heat was affecting them all.

“Did somebody forget to turn the heating off?” Nicholas asked.

“This isn’t a natural heat,” Sam said.

They reached the end of the corridor. A doorway was covered in black plastic. It was tacked all around the doorframe like a shroud.

“This is it,” Sam said under his breath. “The staff room. Hold this.”

He placed the satchel in Nicholas’s arms and opened it again, this time removing a box-cutter. With great care, he sliced through the plastic, dragging the blade from top to bottom. It yielded as easily as warm butter.

Nicholas stood, still holding the satchel as Sam peeled the plastic back and peered through a small window.

Nausea punched Nicholas in the stomach and he doubled over in pain.

Eight chairs. Arranged in a circle. An old woman observes, smiling as dark things swarm about the other teachers. Lecherous claws grasp for them. Open them like meat packets. Blood spills. And a pair of cold blue eyes watch dispassionately as the teachers are gutted.

Nicholas attempted to steady himself. The ground seemed to be tilting beneath him and he felt as if he was about to hit the floor.

“Boy,” came Isabel’s voice.

Her voice brought him back to the corridor. A hand seized Nicholas’s other shoulder, and he found himself peering into Sam’s wizened face.

“Don’t look,” the old man said, though it came out as a barely-controlled choke. Their eyes locked and Nicholas saw that Sam was worried. Scared, even. He couldn’t help trembling.

“I’ve already seen,” Nicholas said softly. “They were sacrificed in there. Something cut them all open.”

Sam dropped his gaze, still clutching Nicholas’s shoulder.

“A sacrifice,” he said. “This place has been desecrated.”

“For what?”

Laughter punctured the air. A child, perhaps. Or a woman. A filthy, high-pitched snigger.

“Samuel. Nicholas. Isabel. Welcome.”

It was an inhuman sound that reminded Nicholas of Diltraa. The guttural rasp that had come from the demon’s throat. The voice skittered over the floor and penetrated his heart.

“Don’t listen to it,” Sam said.

“What’s here?” Nicholas asked, his blood running cold as a face appeared in the window behind the black plastic. A withered, pale countenance like a skull. Lips peeling into a leer. Dark smudges for eyes. It was the old woman from his vision; the one who had watched the teachers being butchered.

“It’s her,” Nicholas said.

By the time Sam whirled to look, the face had vanished.

“The headmistress,” Nicholas said. “She killed them all.”

“Harvester,” Isabel spat.

“Let’s go,” the old man said, seizing the satchel from him. “Come on.” He marched away from the door. Nicholas hurried down the corridor alongside him.

“Leaving so soon? Won’t you stay? I’m sure we can find ways to entertain you.”

“Ignore it,” Sam barked.

The heat was unbearable. Nicholas felt clammy and leaden. It was as if he was wading through cement. He grabbed the Drujblade from its sheath and clutched it tightly. The corridor ballooned out before him and the exit was impossibly far away. The colourful paper on the walls shivered. Nicholas’s gaze snapped up to the ceiling. Something was there. A gathering pool of darkness.

“They’ve fed, but they’re still hungry.”

The corridor was watching him.

A buzz of electricity shuddered through the air and the strip lighting blazed. Nicholas threw a hand up to shield his eyes. White light battered him. Finally, darkness collapsed back in around him.

Red and yellow spots simmered in Nicholas’s vision and he wasn’t able to see. He stumbled blindly. Just as he began to grow accustomed to the dark, the lights turned on full blast once more. Above his head, the drone of electricity throbbed and then, one by one, each of the lights emitted a
crack-pop
and shards of glass rained down.

Nicholas squeezed the Drujblade. He staggered away, crashing into the wall. His hands felt slick with sweat. No, not sweat. As his vision cleared, he saw that they were red. Red with blood. The walls were bleeding.

His heart hammered in his chest.

“Sam?” he yelled. “Sam, where are you?!”

He couldn’t feel Isabel, either. She was gone from his shoulder.

The blood was everywhere. It dripped from the ceiling and dribbled warmly down his cheeks.

Something swooped and Nicholas instinctively ducked. He cast about in confusion. Whatever had bowled at him hadn’t made a sound, had swept as noiselessly as a kestrel, but he’d felt an odd flush as it whisked past.

“Isabel?”

Another movement, and this time Nicholas caught it as it rippled across the wall. Fangs stretched wide and snapped shut. Bony claws snaked over the wall.

A living shadow with horns and awful cut-out eyes.

It was red against the bloody wall, then grey on the floor.

It watched him for a moment, then frantically lunged.

Before Nicholas had time to react, the shadow tore through him, drenching him in heat, and he gasped in shock. Within seconds there were more of them. Undulating in waves, the monsters surfaced through the shadows, fixing their cut-out eyes on him before thrashing in his direction, clawing from the floor and walls, any surface within reach.

Nicholas slashed the Drujblade, but it had no effect. He keeled from one wall to the next, attempting to evade their blows.

The shadows towered over him; immense, distorted, alien things that writhed from the ceiling. Barbed claws snatched at him, erupting from the floor to seize his legs.

Nicholas twisted and pulled, but there was no escaping them. They held fast.

One of the shadows pressed a claw to his chest. He felt a wrench inside his rib cage. A horrendous pulling. The monster was inside him, feeling for his heart, attempting to rip it free.

He collapsed to the floor in agony.

A liver-spotted hand seized his shoulder and Nicholas peered up. As light broke across Sam’s face, though, Nicholas cringed away in fear.

The old man’s eyes were gone. Ghastly, bloodied hollows gaped blankly at him and Sam’s face contorted into a mask of hatred.

“
Nicholassss
,” the old man hissed. “
Join us. Join ussss...
”

“ENOUGH!”

Sweet relief came in an instant. The shadows tumbled away, as if dragged by an invisible tide. Just like that, they were gone, along with the horrible vision of Sam.

Gulping for breath, Nicholas peered down. The red was still on him. The blood. Already, it was congealing on his clothes, his skin, in his hair. He fought the urge to vomit.

Light returned to the corridor and he spotted Sam leaning against a wall, panting for breath. His eyes were back to normal. His satchel was further down the corridor, near the exit.

It wasn’t Sam who had bellowed, though. It took Nicholas a moment to process the fact that the voice had been female.

It had been Isabel.

Nicholas searched for the cat, finding her at the centre of the corridor. She looked double her normal size, her fur had puffed up so much. The cat stared intently at a figure lingering outside the staff room. A scrawny woman. All bones and wrinkly flesh. Her hair was pinned atop her head and her hands were mittened claws.

The headmistress
, Nicholas realised with a start.
The one from the paper. Miss Fink
.

It was the face he’d glimpsed peeking through the window. Aileen had said the headmistress was seventy, but she looked almost twice that, as if the Dark Prophets had drained her of all life, leaving her little more than an emaciated corpse.

“
The Tortor will rise
,” the hag hissed. “
The Tortor will rise and you will all perish writhing in agony.
”

“Your parlour tricks hold no power over us,” Isabel spat. “You will desist.”

Nicholas blinked at the cat, not believing what he was seeing.

Golden fire flickered in her eyes and a shadow towered over her. It was the shadow of an old woman, attached to the cat’s paws. The shadow raised an arm and pointed toward the staff room. The fire in Isabel’s eyes flashed.

“DESIST!”

There was a moment of tension. The air crackled. Then, without saying a word, the headmistress was gone.

Peace settled over the hallway.

“You’ll have to forgive Miss Fink. She has the manners of a stray dog.”

Nicholas tensed. Another figure had appeared in the headmistress’s place. A man with blond hair and high cheekbones. He was broad-shouldered, his voice low and arrogant.

“No,” Sam murmured beside him.

“Samuel Wilkins,” the newcomer drawled. “What a pleasant surprise. What’s it been, fifteen, twenty years? Time really is a thief, isn’t she? You haven’t changed a bit. And you’ve brought a young novice with you.” The man winked at him. “Did you enjoy Miss Fink’s little show? She’s a touch dramatic, but she gets the job done.”

“Stay back, Laurent,” Sam growled.

Laurent?
Sam knew this man?

The stranger held his hands up. “Such suspicion,” he scoffed, sounding hurt. “Are you not pleased to see me, old chap? I’ve got the kettle on if you fancy a catch up.”

“Whatever you’re up to, Laurent, I entreat you to stop,” Sam said.

The other man considered them. He wore a dark blue jacket and his chin jutted confidently. Was he a Harvester? Nicholas wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible.

“Stop?” Laurent mused. “Yes, that would make life a great deal easier for you, wouldn’t it? Sadly, it would make things a great deal less entertaining for me.” He flashed perfect white teeth. “Don’t worry, I have no use for you yet. Go now. Rouse the ranks. It will be for nothing. Tell them all that Laurent Renault has returned and he wants blood.”

Nicholas felt Sam clutch his arm. He pulled him down the hall, away from Laurent.

“See you soon,” the man called.

Together, Nicholas, Sam and Isabel wordlessly retreated. They stumbled out into the baking sunshine, exhausted and trembling, and Sam led them away from the school, his expression grim.

“I’ll need to speak with Esus,” he said softly. “The school will need to be guarded. The sacrifice was just the beginning. That hag was a Harvester, she couldn’t be anything else. One of Laurent’s pawns. He is planning something terrible for this building.”

“Who is he? What were those things that attacked us?” Nicholas asked.

“In my time we called them murklings,” Isabel said. “Officially, they’re called
nillumbra
. They’re usually invisible to humans. They must have gained in power. The sacrifice...”

“The sacrifice gave them a boost,” Nicholas murmured, finishing the thought for her. “Great.” He frowned. A girl stood a little further down the street. She looked about his age. Tall and dark-skinned. A little scruffy. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and stared intently at the odd trio scuttling away from the school.

When she saw him looking, the girl lowered her hand and hurried away.

*

Nicholas showered and watched the drain devour the bloody water. When he’d scrubbed every inch of himself until he finally felt clean, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

He was paler than ever. His mop of dark curls was a tangled mess. He thought he looked older already. It was less than a week until his sixteenth birthday, but he looked even older than that. He’d wised up, maybe. Life wasn’t the carefree cruise he’d always taken it to be.